


To Court a Monster: Kingsman Edition

by Rhiw



Series: Roux-verse [5]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, But too much of a genlteman to do anything about it, Eating Of Humans, Eggsy is a Little Shit, Eggsy may be a white hat, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gentleman Harry Hart, Harry Hart is Confused by Emotions, Harry's like a teenage girl here, Jealousy, M/M, Non-Human Eggsy, Non-Human Harry Hart, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Old Fashioned Monster Courting, Pining, Q is a Holmes, So much jealousy omg, Stealth Crossover, and Eggsy bff, for MI6, heh, no really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4843799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiw/pseuds/Rhiw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Hart had arguably known Gary 'Eggsy' Unwin for the entirety of the lad's life. Bound by a life debt, Harry had sworn to aid Lee's cub however he could. So when Eggsy' had called him, desperate to escape when Michael Unwin's new mate had become abusive, Harry quickly moved him to a new home. He'd fully expected that to be end of it. But then Eggsy' had called again with a rather extraordinary request - to chaperon his courting.</p><p>And so Harry had stepped in, fully willing to stand in for Lee. It was the least he could do for the Roux that had saved his life. But Harry hadn't expected to find himself so drawn to the Submissive, nor for Eggsy to be so charming. And if there was one thing that Harry Hart dealt with poorly, it was jealousy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: A Life Debt's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t imagine going to Mycroft or Sherlock about this…just…just no. And so he called the number for Harry Hart for the first time in nearly eleven years, desperate for any kind of guidance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...here's the start of this series. I have to have a ton going at once or I just can't write. I get stuck, you see, and honestly writing another story in the universe often helps jump start the other ones. And I only have two chapters left for the POTC one, and the epilogue for it is written and finished, but the last chapter is fighting me like the ugly son-of-a-bitch this is.
> 
> And yeah.
> 
> Sigh.
> 
> The groundwork for the Bondlock Rouxverse is in this one too, cause Bond/Q, Sherlock/John and Mycroft/? (haven't decided quite yet who I want that too be, I'm debating between Mycroft/Merlin or Mycroft/Gareth cause both seem awesome to me and I already did a Mycroft/Lestrade in my other series. Any opinions?) But that 'verse won't be started until the POTC and the Fast and Furious is either finished or nearing completion. I kept the name 'Alcott' for Q from my other story, cause I really can't think of him without the name. I plan on making his character different though.
> 
> Un-betaed.
> 
> Enjoy.

The first time Harry Hart met Gary Unwin, the lad had been playing rather intensely with a car set, expression hard as he tried to fit as many miniature cars onto a small plastic roundabout as possible. The truly tiny cub was staring at the piled cars with a look of frustration as he held a truck in his hand, clearly trying to figure out where it could go in the lineup, and was completely alienated from the grief his carrier was expressing.

Lee’s death had struck Harry rather hard; the Kingsman was an elite service, one populated almost exclusively with Dominant Roux, and each agent was chosen for their ability to play nice with others of their gender. Such a thing was almost unheard of for Dominants, and as such their selection process was easily – hands down, actually – one of the hardest to pass, for any spy agency. Because atop of learning their business, agents had to be able to suppress their nature enough to work together.

The Kingsman – once a name that was almost interchangeable with MI6 – was founded by a Dominant Roux who’d had the foresight (as far back as the forties) to realize that the world was changing and that someone (or something, like an organization) had to be in place to look after the welfare of Roux. The original Arthur had been obsessed not only with protecting the Roux of Britain but of the world and had sought to recruit open minded Roux who had enough grace to put aside their biology in favor of protecting the population as a whole. He seemed to understand that Roux needed to work together at some point to secure their race, even back then when how few they were growing in numbers was not widely known.

As such the Kingsman was an organization that operated without the knowledge of the human government - without the knowledge of any government - and sought to control not only Rogue Roux and humans who worked to change the status quo, but fought to protect their race in any manner that called for it. The Roux race could only continue to exist due to their secretive nature and anyone – Roux or human – that threatened that delicate balance was dealt with accordingly. While Roux of both gender, the Dominant male and the Submissive female, appeared at first glance very much a fit, attractive male human, any type of in depth medical exam would easily prove otherwise.

They were not human, they had come about on a completely different evolutionary track, and only the flesh and blood of the humans they lived amongst gave them enough nourishment to survive. They neither deficated nor urinated, using every inch of fuel their body was given, and Submissives males carried a womb where their upper and lower digestive tracks should have been.

While they were unknown save to a select group of humans (hunters, and didn’t they cause quite a headache, especially the Chinese ones) it took quite a bit of work to keep it that way. As technology grew – as science, both medical and otherwise - and more and more things became available to spot a Roux from a human was developed, the agency was busier than ever. They were incredibly few in number as a species, fewer still as Kingsman, and their continued existence hinged without a doubt on their secretive status, and as such great strides were made throughout their race to keep themselves unknown. Because there was no doubt anyone’s mind that if humans knew they of them  they’d hunt them into nonexistence. Humans were the dominant species of this planet without question, and superior strength and prowess of a Roux aside, there was no way they could stand against the whole of the human race united. And so they killed when needed, suppressed information and technological advances until (if) they thought humans could handle it and had enough safe-guards to protect their own kind from said technology had been developed, and generally tried to better the lives of Roux around the world, even if they were really only known and prevalent in the UK. They were hoping to change that soon, they already had offices in most European countries, though the Roux of the US were staunchly independent creatures and those in their government and intelligence communities seemed unwilling to join the Kingsman in their crusade even if they recognized the validity of their mission. Typical Yank mentality, really.

The Kingsman served as a sort of social services for Roux, offering roles within their far-flung operation for Roux of any gender and age, as long as they were willing to undergo desensitizing training so they co-exist with non-relative members of their races. Even the lowest support position had to go through this and any type of failure - either in training or during their tenure with the Kingsman - meant an immediate removal. This was not only the loss of a job, but the loss of protection for their kills (the Kingsman guaranteed that even if they'd been caught or implicated, they would do their very best to erase it), as well as a rather aggressive paycheck (funded by bouts of mercenary jobs they took on the side), to loosing the house or flat they'd been gifted upon acceptance into the organization and funding for their children to attend the very best schools and universities around the world, as well as the promise of lucrative positions for said cubs should it prove appropriate.

Lee Unwin had understood the importance of their mission, enough so to fight the demands of his biology and to become one of Harry Hart’s most respected friends. As such, Harry was loathed to think of his mate and cub abandoned with no aid. And so he had visited, had made his promises to appease his guilt. After all, a life debt was perhaps the only thing that triumphed over any other social more in their culture and Harry would be damned if he didn’t respect that.

That wasn’t to say that his visit had been appreciated.

Michael Unwin had been less than accepting of his promises, expressing his devotion to the belief that Lee’s death (quite rightfully) rested solely on Harry’s shoulders. His imposition upon them could almost be seen as a threat to Michael, who'd Lee had long moaned about's resistance to the idea of mixing with other Roux. It was hardly uncommon for Dominant Roux to kill the children of other bloodlines, a left over biological quirk that was meant to ensure only the strongest of their kind survived, but Harry had no intention of taking Michael as a mate and as such, Lee’s cub was quite safe. Michael stubbornly refused to see reason, though.

As the years passed Harry had become quite confident that he’d never hear from the Submissive cub, so strong was Michael's revulsion at the thought of asking him for aid. So the surprise he’d felt when he received the notification that someone had called in giving the password for aid he’d set up solely for Lee Unwin’s child…well, it was quite a shock indeed. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Gary ‘Eggsy' Unwin, beat to hell as he rested against a park bench as if it was the only thing holding him up, an even tinier cub suckling against his breast, and the urge to protect swept over the agent so strong that it was almost blinding.

* * *

At twenty-two Eggsy Unwin was considered an adult by several years by human standards. For a Roux though, he was still considered hardly more than a child. Roux reached sexual maturity at thirty and until then they were viewed as quite young. As a (very possibly) dying race, cubs were considered untouchable and operated outside of the complex social norms of their race – except, of course, if there was a mating Dominant in the picture that was not their sire.

Eggsy knew that all too well.

Dean Coor had mated with his carrier a little over a year ago. At twenty-two, Eggsy couldn’t understand his carrier’s urge to re-mate all that well. So far from his majority, Eggsy felt neither lust nor romantic love for anyone, and as such he didn’t understand Michael Unwin’s driving need to be mated, to have a Dominant, though he tried to get it, he really did. Even if he didn't understand, Eggsy wanted his carrier to be happy, and it was clear that being unmated made Michael a ghost of what he once had been. At first, Dean hadn’t seemed that bad and Michael had been so happy, almost like he'd been when Eggsy's sire had still been alive and Eggsy had thought, well he'd hoped... Dean’d be willing to – at the very least – tolerate Eggsy existence. And while the Submissive found nothing about Dean Coor that would have ever have called to him as mate (again, most of this was understanding by proxy, as Eggsy could never imagine wanting a mate _period)_ he’d loved that his carrier – _his mother –_ was so happy.

But in the end Michael had chosen his new beau over them and Dean was terrible. It had only taken a handful of months after he’d successfully shared a heat with Michael for him to become abusive to both Eggsy and even on occasion to Michael, so much so that Eggsy honest to god feared for his life more often than not. Both Submissives had thought Dean’s abusive would lessen when he’d successfully cubed Michael, the presence of his own continued bloodline should have been enough to solidify the Dominant’s claim and presence in their life, but it had seemingly done the opposite.

Even though Dashiell – affectionately called Dash by any that knew him – was another Dominant and therefore everything Dean supposedly wanted, Dean’s aggression towards Eggsy had only intensified. What’s more, the elder Roux seemingly wanted nothing to do with Dash. While such belligerent neglect could be ignored – even forgiven in their society with Eggsy so attentive to the baby– the moment he’d struck Dash, Eggsy was just _done._

Because Eggsy, even at his tender age, knew that any abuse towards a cub just couldn’t be forgiven and he couldn't reconcile the image of his carrier with what Michael had become. A lot of it was the drugs. _A lot_ of it was the drugs, as they affected Roux just as they did humans. Michael’s seemingly flippant, uncaring approach to the fact that both of his children were being abused was easy enough to understand when you saw the not so small laundry list of drugs he was taking. But Eggsy had never indulged in the stuff, no matter what kind of bliss it promised, and he couldn’t forgive the ugly colored bruise across Dash’s forehead. All because Dash was colicky and couldn’t stop crying. It was natural, for Christ’s sake. He was just a _baby,_ not even six months old yet.

And so he’d scoped the cub up, ignoring the raging shouts of Dean as he sprinted away from the flat, his carrier completely checked out and seemingly content and happy on the sofa. He’d called the number on his medal out of sheer desperation, aware that if he’d returned Dean would kill him for taking his cub and what would become of Dash then, with no one to give enough shits about him to ensure he had a clean clothes on or a full belly?

The park was abandoned at such a late hour and so Eggsy carefully rucked his hoodie and t-shirt up, a razor sharp nail cutting deep into the skin just above his nipple. He winced, face scrunching in a look of distaste and disbelief as he raised Dash up to feed just like he’d seen his carrier do a thousand times. He was yet mature – his blood hardly had the antibodies and nutrition that an adult Submissive's would carry – yet Dash settled all the same, his warm little body going limp in Eggsy’s hold as he suckled Eggsy's blood. It would be better if they had some human blood around, something he could mix with some formula to give Dash everything he needed, but...well...it would just have to do, wouldn't it?

The sound of footsteps drew his attention and Eggsy froze, tensing, as the wind carried the scent of a Dominant Roux in his prime to him. The man who stepped into the light of the park’s street light could only be described as _posh_ , tailored head to toe in bespoke clothing, and for a moment Eggsy wondered if this was the end of him, if he’d finally stretched his luck too far. But then a memory arose, one so carefully associated with a another almost as old as he was, and Eggsy’s fear settled somewhat. He knew, even before the bloke opened his mouth, that this was the Dominant that had visited them all those years ago, that had visited Eggsy, and given him the medal he still wore around his neck. The elder Roux (he looked perhaps ten or fifteen years older than Eggsy, well into his majority) stilled a handful of steps before them, his eyes unreadable as he took in the sight of Eggsy and the feeding Dash.

 _“Good evening, Eggsy.”_ The Dominant greeted after a moment and Eggsy shuddered, eyes shuttering till they were mere slits, unwilling to look away from the possible threat even as he recognized aid that he’d sent for.

After that things had moved very quickly. Eggsy found himself in a large home in the suburbs, homed by an ancient Submissive Roux – a rare, fine man by the name of Alistair Holmes, who was more than willing to take in abandoned or orphaned cubs – and Eggsy quite forgot about Harry Hart. In fact, he’d forgotten about almost everything from his old life, caught up in lesson after lesson the elder Roux pushed upon him. Everything from how he dressed to how he spoke (though try as he might, Eggsy really couldn't get rid of the South London accent), to how took his tea was evaluated and re-evaluated, until Eggsy could hardly recognize himself in the mirror. What, he wondered, would his friends in the old neighborhood think of him now if they saw him? Taking on such airs?

But Eggsy had no complaints, Alistair made sure they were well fed and well educated, made sure that Eggsy was fit for grade so to speak, determined that he’d make him into the perfect Submissive. The training (and it could very well be called training, thank you very much) was more intense – was more _attention_ – than Michael had ever bothered to give him, and as the years passed and Dash not only grew but thrived, Eggsy could hardly complain.

Alistair gave them a good life, and the loyalty and debt he felt to the old bat and – by proxy – to Harry Hart, was undoubtable. It was a good life and for a long time Eggsy was quite happy, quite happy in his quiet little suburb, but then - well, nothing ever stayed the same, did it?

* * *

Eggsy had quite forgotten about Harry Hart as the years passed. In honesty, he hadn’t even really thought about the Dominant until need called him to, not until Alistair Holmes had died quietly on his porch swing, old age victorious at last.

Eggsy had been out when it had happened, picking Dash from his school and another cub they’d taken in, Paulo, from his daycare. The sight of the elder Submissive, still and unmoving and somehow utterly peaceful, had been devastating to him. Eggsy had known it was coming; the Roux was nearly a hundred and sixty-two, positively ancient for their race, but the sight of his pale and cold body had been quite a sight.

A part of him had truly believed Alistair to stubborn to die.

Eggsy had mourned for the man – for the closest thing that he could call a mother – before moving one of their pack and plays outside, placing Dash and Paulo (safely tucked into his basket) in it. He’d thought about calling Harry then; the Dominant had been very clear when he’d left his number that Eggsy was to call if he needed anything, that Lee’s life-debt had yet to be paid. But in the end he’d settled for calling the devil he knew over the one he didn’t.

Eggsy had first met the Holmes brothers when they’d started summering with Alistair. Apparently there was a movement among the Roux, at least by the well-to-do Roux, to essentially re-structure Roux society. By their very nature Roux were hardly pack creatures, in fact if they were to be compared to any other species it would most likely be some sort of big cat like a jaguar, as they could hardly stand being around each other if they were not blood-relatives or united through a mating.

But the Roux were a dying breed, on the very cusp of extinction really, and the powers-that-be in the Roux world, at least in the UK, were determined to change the way things were done. And so the Holmes cubs were sent to spend time with their queer Uncle Alistair, who harbored many other children who were unrelated to them. It seemed that Mr. and Mr. Holmes had big plans for their children (both were in the government, as such it went without saying that their sons would end up in just as prominent positions) wanted their children desensitized to being around unrelated Roux. It had been a strain for Eggsy as well, who had to get used to being around two nearly adult Dominants and both Mycroft and Sherlock were very opinionated creatures, more than willing to cut to the wick with a handful of simple words, and Sherlock in particular was more than capable of being stupidly, cruelly _rude._ The youngest Holmes brother was alright, though. Alcott “Call me Al again and I’ll _cut_ you, _‘Eggsy’_ ” was another Submissive and around Eggsy's age, so he mostly spent his time with him.

Mycroft and Sherlock were hardly ever allowed to part, Alistair seemingly willing to force them into comfort around each other out of sheer force. Something which was quite difficult, as even brother Dominants got along less and less the older they got. They were also on babysitting duty more often than not, caring for Dash or Eggsy and Alcott most of the time. Whether or not this had its intended purpose of muting a Dominant Roux’s need to eliminate cubs not of their own bloodline or to work together with another of their gender, Eggsy didn’t know.

All of the Holmes boys were annoyingly stoic about everything.

The day was unseasonably cold today, wasn't it? _That's nice, Eggsy._ Dash learned to walk on his own - did you see that? _That's nice, Eggsy._ The house next door is on fire! _That's nice, Eggsy._ Don't get mad, but I managed to hack into the pentagon without Alcott's help and the NSA _may_ have noticed. _That's nice_ , _Eggsy._

Honestly.

They were just the _worst._

Eggsy really liked Alcott though. The two were close enough to chat and email during the rest of the year, which wasn’t considered _that_ much of a triumph as they were both immature Submissives, and it was kind of a known fact that Submissives got along better with each other, especially when there was no competition for mates or if they were introduced early enough. Alcott was really good with computers – he’d even talked Alistair into buying Eggsy a new model every year or so – and under his guidance Eggsy had gotten pretty damn good at it himself. Good enough to be hired on a consultant white hat, working from his home when the kids were in daycare or after they’d gone to bed, building firewalls and testing for weaknesses. And if sometimes he did change that hat for a black one and did a little bit of hacking at foreign databases…well, that was no one’s business but his and the Queen's, right?

Eggsy’d been mid-shovel, sweating and hurting but determined to give his mentor a proper burial underneath the boughs of a shady oak he’d always loved in their backyard, when Sherlock and Alcott had arrived.

The Dominant had stood at the edges of the shallow grave, looking quite as he had all those years ago before he’d maturity, face serious and contrite, and the aging cub had said nothing as he was pulled from the grave, cradling a frightfully upset Dash against his chest as he sat next to where Alcott was busy shifting Paulo’s from his carrier onto his lap, nose squished in distaste. Sherlock had been unnaturally quiet that night, though Alcott had explained to him later that it had less to do with Alistair’s death and more to do with a Submissive _(his name was Victor Trevor, god he was_ so _outside of Sherlock’s league, but…well)_ and a failed courting than anything else.

 _“He left everything to you,”_ Alcott had said casually as they stood before the covered grave, _“will you be alright here on your own? I can find someone…”_

But the other Submissive had sounded as weary at the idea as Eggsy had felt. Alistair had been a rare Roux indeed, a maiden Aunt so to speak, and despite what changes the new guard wanted to make, the fact that he’d had opened his doors for so many abandoned cubs of others – such a thing was unheard of in their community and Eggsy doubted it would be easy to find another like him. He didn’t know if there was another Alistair Holmes in the entire world.

 _“I reach my majority in a year,”_ Eggsy had pointed out, Dash a heavy and cumbersome weight in his arms, yet the young Submissive could not find it in himself to set the other cub down. _“I’m fully capable of hunting for us. We’ll be fine.”_

Thankfully neither Sherlock nor Alcott had challenged him on that.

They had stayed just long enough to share a hastily made meal of sandwiches and tea, just long enough for it to be awkward because _Jesus_ Sherlock was in a mood, enough to actually worry Eggsy, because Sherlock wasn't the type of bloke to let anything get under his skin for long, before leaving for the city.

And suddenly Eggsy was alone.

And a home owner.

And a state-licensed foster parent.

_Christ._

But they’d been alright, really they had been. Mycroft called often to check in on him, as did Alcott, and living so close to London meant that it was easy enough to hunt – even with so many cubs – and any time things got rough Eggsy knew he could always call Mycroft and the Dominant would get them something, if only out a of a sense of duty more than any sort of fondness.

But then Andrew Graves had appeared a handful of years later, a Dominant who seemed uncaring that Eggsy was raising not only his younger brother but a handful of other cubs – their household now numbered four with the addition of Naveen, whose sire and carrier had died in a house fire – and Eggsy somehow found himself filling the vacuum Alistair’s death had created, incapable of turning away the cub when he’d been delivered wailing and screaming, bum chapped from a shamefully dry diaper he didn't even need, and Eggsy was so unsure, so very, very unsure, on how to continue.

Andrew seemed like a good man, a gentleroux who worked as a social worker, and perhaps it was that which made him so fine with Eggsy’s occupation as a foster dad (well, one of his occupations, but Eggsy had signed some rather serious confidentiality agreements, so there was a good chance Andrew would never learn about the other job)? But there was no way the newly adult Roux was willing to risk his babies, because despite how genuine and good natured Andrew seemed - he’d been attempting to coax Eggsy into a courting for nearly six months, always backing down when the Submissive warned him to - the Dominant’s simple acceptance of other cubs was something to be suspicious of. Eggsy wanted to think otherwise, Andrew was _very_ handsome and _very_ sweet, but the young Submissive was unwilling to take any chances. Because it wasn’t uncommon at all in their culture for a Dominant to sweep in and kill cubs that weren’t his blood, or to abuse them, just like Dean had done to Eggsy.

In a normal, nuclear Roux family there would be Dominant and Submissive father to guide him through a courting, to protect and advise him, and Eggsy felt the loss of his sire and his carrier’s negligence harder than he had in years. But he also felt stuck.

Because Eggsy also wanted a mate.

He wanted one very badly.

The Change – a shift in biology that all Roux had when they reached maturity and their sexual organs finally became viable – had left Eggsy with a deep seated need to mate and produce his own offspring despite living in a house filled with cubs, and the young Roux found himself wanting what Andrew was offering just a little too much. Just enough that he couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t imagine going to Mycroft or Sherlock about this…just…just _no._ Mycroft was so busy and so stern - Eggsy gagged uncomfortably at the thought of just asking the stern man to chaperon much less having the Dominant watch him court - and the last Eggsy had heard Sherlock was lost in his world of drugs, and again, after what he'd grown up with, there was no way in hell Eggsy was letting that around him or his cubs. And so he called the number for Harry Hart for the first time in nearly eleven years, desperate for any kind of guidance.

Still, Eggsy was surprised when the Dominant suddenly appeared, looking prim and proper in a well cut suit and neigh a hair out of place, at his garden gate less than a day later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The British are slightly more together than us Yankees, or at the very least they're looking more to the future. They already have some sort of social services framework (even here if its just lone Alistair and the Kingsman) and enough of the 'old blood' (coughcoughMycroft) in charge to realize that things need to be changed. I like to shake my 'verse up, do different types of things so I can build it up and make it stronger. Did you like the prologue? Hope so, I wrote it slightly different than I normally do.
> 
> Love.


	2. Of Age: A Re-Introduction of Sorts, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jesus, Harry! Wear a bell or somethin’ next time!” Eggsy hissed and Harry nodded his apologies, eyes flickering from Eggsy’s startled and frustrated expression contritely to where the baby was nursing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betaed! Enjoy.

Alistair Holmes’ – or rather, Eggsy Unwin’s – garden looked much as it had the last time Harry had visited ten years ago. The crab apple tree had grown larger, as had a spruce pine that dominated a corner of the large plot, and a well-cared for and obviously loved rose garden flourished along the back porch’s foundations. The entire place carried the strong scent of the flowers – and that of cub, and of dog.

The immaculate, carefully manicured bushes and lawn was somewhat diminished by the clutter of toys that littered it, but Harry hardly found that surprising. He may have left Eggsy Unwin well enough alone this past decade, but that hardly meant that he’d not kept an eye or two on the lad, and Harry knew that the Submissive had gathered a few more cubs to watch over besides his brother.

Dashiell – and hadn’t he gotten _quite_ big at ten, a strapping young Dominant with dirty blond hair and a fiercely mischievous face as he taunted a younger cub. The other cub (also a tiny Dominant if Harry’s reputable nose was to be believed) was dark skinned with a natural tan, black hair thick and cut into a mohawk, was glaring death at Dash, hands fisted at his side.

“Give it back!” The smaller cub – Paulo – said with a very well done snarl for a five year old.

Dash danced away from him, a small stuffed panda plush in his hands. “Does the _baby_ want his toy back?”

“I’m not a baby!”

“Yeah you are! Only babies still sleep with toys!”

That seemed to be the last straw for Paulo, and the tiny Dominant let out a high-pitched war cry before launching him forward. Dash’s grin grew sharper – sharkish, almost – and the two tumbled in a violent bundle, biting and hitting. Harry shook his head fondly as he watched them; such harsh play was hardly uncommon among two Dominants, both testing out their budding strength and each other’s boundaries despite their tender age.

But the play fight escalated (as such things tend to) and Harry pushed the garden gate open, ready to intervene, when a sharp whistle stopped the biting and slapping mid-motion. Eggsy appeared on the porch, an even tinier cub cradled against his chest, brows furrowed and expression thunderous. Harry felt his grip tighten on the wooden gate, eyebrows raising slightly.

Eggsy certainly had…grown.

The young man was taller now, with sandy-brunet hair slicked and parted on the side, his long lines highlighted rather well by a pair of khaki’s and a hunter green sweater, the white collar of a button up peeking out of it. The baby – which had to be Naveen, Eggsy’s youngest at four months – clung tightly to his caretaker, watching the older, frozen cubs with a lazy interest as he suckled on a pacy.

“Oi! What's all this?” Eggsy asked sternly. “Dash, what 'ave I said about teasin' your brother? Paulo, get your teeth off ov that, lord knows what Dash 'as been rollin' in.”

“I’m clean!” Dash cried out in offense, “you made me bathe yesterday.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes, hitching the baby up higher on his hip. “Fat lot ov good tha’ did, jus’ got yourself all dirty again, didn’t ya? Give Mr. Panda back to Paulo an’ come in fer –” The Submissive’s admonishment trailed off, eyes widening as he finally clued into Harry’s presence, “ – lunch. Dash, come take Naveen an' 'ead inside fer a bit.”

“What! But Naveen’s _smells.”_

“Dashiell Kent, now ain’t the day mate.” Eggsy warned sternly and the blond boy rolled his eyes, shoving the panda plush into Paulo’s hands before he dragged the other cub – who’d been staring, wide eyed, at Harry – up the stairs. He obediently took the baby before stepping behind the screen door. Eggsy made his way down the stairs and Harry politely waited by the gate door for his invitation to enter the yard.

Eggsy may have been raised by Alistair Holmes – and therefore indoctrinated into the new ways of cooperation – but that didn’t mean that Harry was going to push. Only once Eggsy had stopped a few paces away and waved him in did the Dominant step into the garden.

“Woah. You really came.”

“Did you truly expect I wouldn’t?” Harry asked genially, leaning on his umbrella as the Submissive’s head cocked to the side, green eyes critical.

Eggsy let out a low, thoughtful hum. “Dunno, wasn't all that sure about anything, actually. Come on in, 'ave you eaten? We were just about to 'ave lunch. Not much, just sandwich an' tea, but you’re welcome to it.”

“That’s sounds delightful, Eggsy, thank you.”

The porch door opened directly into the kitchen, which was just as crammed with kids toys and furniture as the yard had been. Dash was chewing, a bit of sandwich crust sticking out of his mouth which rotated slightly as he poured juice for himself and Paulo, the youngest Dominant perched on a booster seat as he ate his sandwich, the thing looking monstrous in his small hands even though it’d been halved. Dashiell – the sensible cub he was – gave Harry a rather suspicious look as he finished pouring the orange juice.

“Who’s the stiff?”

“An’ old family friend of Da’s, an’ don’t talk with your mouth full.” Eggsy answered without missing a beat. Eggsy pushed what Harry rather suspected was his own sandwich and tea at him, ignoring the Dominant’s insistence that it was not necessary, before lifting a fusing Naveen from his bouncy swing and balancing him on his hip as he made himself another sandwich. Harry took the moment to sit quietly and observe. The banter between the three came with the ease that only family ever seemed to have and after a handful of suspicious and amusingly calculated looks from such a young boy, Dash relaxed into his seat and began to eat in earnest.

His table manners were slightly atrocious and Harry watched him demolish his sandwich and fries with a mix of humor and distaste. Eggsy turned, his plate in one hand and sighed at the sight. “Dash, mate, try an’ remember ta breathe.”

“I’ma hungarry,” came the slightly slurred words and Eggsy somehow managed to slap the back of Dash’s head even with both hands full.

“Don’ talk with your mouth full. Jesus, ya tryin’ to make me look like I've put no manners in you?” Eggsy asked with a sigh, eating his sandwich at the same time he tidied the kitchen. Harry smiled, expression fond. It had been a very long time since he’d been around cubs – or anyone very much younger than himself, really – and there was a charm to it that he’d quite forgotten. The older Roux let his eyes drift back to Eggsy, watching as the Submissive scrubbed at the counter and sink with a rag, hips swaying slightly as he rocked Naveen.

It took Harry far longer than it should have to realize that he was staring, eyes following each drag of the Submissive’s supple hips and he jerked his eyes away, appalled, and put his focus on eating his meal. The children finished before he did – even young Paulo – and clambered back outside with a sharp order from Eggsy to play nice. The brunet Roux cleared the table save for Harry’s dishes, rinsing them and settling them in an ancient looking dishwasher before finally sitting down.

The Submissive gave him a long stare for a moment, shifting Naveen in his lap. “I've got to feed 'im, do you mind? Don't wan' to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“By all means,” Harry assured quickly, “this is your house, Eggsy. Don’t let me disrupt your routine.”

Eggsy watched him for a moment longer before shrugging. He set Naveen on the table top, balancing the cub with one hand as he rucked his sweater up, nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt and Harry stared very intently into his tea, feeling determined to ignore the sight of a well-defined, creamy chest and perky nipples, their pinkish-brown color highlighted as ruby blood began to pool around it – _and what was wrong with him_? He was here in the role of a mentor, a stand in for a very dear friend to ensure his child got only the best, and here Harry was – a sharp hiss caught his attention, tearing his eyes from his food and Harry felt his mouth dry slightly at the sight of Naveen latching on without hesitation.

The sight was mesmerizing, the cub’s head bobbing slightly as he suckled, tiny fists flexing open and close around the folds of Eggsy’s sweater like a contented kitten. Eggsy’s expression was tender and loving, hand stroking the baby’s head gently and Harry watched unblinkingly, riveted, and felt something pull in his chest – something that felt strongly like desire, similar yet completely separate from lust. His stare was broken only by the arrival of a fleece blanket draped over the Submissive’s shoulder, hiding the intimate act from view.

“Thank's for coming,” Eggsy said around a wince, eyebrow twitching as he cradled the baby’s head through the blanket, “I really appreciate it. Does that mean you’re gonna 'elp? With the courtin' I mean?”

Eggsy’s accent was oddly charming, so at odds with the well-dressed young man in front of him, and Harry found himself suddenly fiercely glad that Alistair had not driven it from him. “Yes, of course. As I said, the debt I owe your father is a deep thing. Lee was a very dear friend of mine and I could hardly sit by and ignore your request. A mate is a dreadfully permanent thing and I would be remised if I didn’t aid you in finding the best fit.” And the crooked smile that earned him was frightfully endearing Harry couldn't help note with a sigh, hand twitching slightly around his cup handle. “Why don’t you tell me about this young man?”

“His name is Andy – Andrew – Graves. He's a social worker; well, some kind ov advanced one, 'e's got 'is psychology doctorate, an' just a few years older than me. He's 'andsome enough bloke an' good with the cubs. I guess 'e'd 'ave to be in 'is line ov work.” Eggsy sighed, shifting Naveen up higher. “And 'e's been really patient with me, I've been denyin' 'is courtship requests for months but 'e keeps comin' back. Not that he pushes the line or nothing,” the Submissive added quickly when Harry’s eyes narrowed, “but...well, can't say it's not flattering.” There was that grin again, uplifted higher on one side than the other, green eyes bright with mischief and humor, highlighting the apples of Eggsy’s cheeks and the well sculptured shape of his cheek bones. “He seems alright with the cubs, but I ain't willin' to risk it, you know?”

“I certainly do. You did the right thing in calling me,” Harry assured, tearing his eyes from where they’d been watching, fascinated, as Naveen’s had cooed and squirmed before settling, “when will Mr. Graves be stopping by again?”

“I told 'im to stop by to meet you tomorrow, if that's not an' all soon?” Eggsy asked, face unsure.

“Sound’s perfectly appropriate,” Harry said as he wiped his mouth, folding the used paper napkin and setting it on the now empty plate. “Delicious, thank you Eggsy.”  
  
“Wasn’t much, jus’ a sandwich. I make a killer chili though, I’ll put some on tonight.” The Submissive said with a grin, lifting the blanket away before pulling the sweater down over his still unbuttoned shirt. He placed a towel on his shoulder, pushing Naveen up as he began to gently pat the cub’s back. “We've got a spare bedroom I made up for you, or you can go stay at a hotel. I don't - I mean, no pressure to stay 'ere if you don't wan' to. It’s jus’…the 'ouse is always a mess an' the kids are loud an' all.”

“If you are comfortable with me staying here then I’d be honored to partake in your hospitality. It will get us more of a chance to get to know each other. Something, I think, is rather essential given the nature of my visit.” Harry assured as he stood and rinsed his plate, placing it in the open dishwasher amongst a small legion of sippy cubs and bottles.

“You're gonna turn my neighbors 'eads with the way you talk, we're not used to posh types around 'ere you know? Neighborhoods kind ov gone down in the last couple ov years.” Eggsy said, chuckling at Harry’s expression as Naveen vomited a small patch of blood onto the Submissive’s shoulder. “That’s a lad,” Eggsy cooed, pulling the baby back so he was standing on his feet on Eggsy’s thighs, though there was no true weight on Naveen’s legs. “Feelin’ better after tha’? That’s my boy.”

Harry’s hand tightened slightly on the sponge in his hand as he took in the adorable sight of Submissive and cub nuzzling each other, swallowing and turning around to rinse the dirty thing when Eggsy’s sharp eyes glanced over at him.

“Come on, we can talk some more in the livin’ room.” Eggsy said as he stood, “can ya see what the boys are up to?”

“They’re playing with their dump trucks in the dirt.” Harry answered, voice fraught with amusement at the sight of the two Dominants utterly covered in dirt and dust, “Dashiell seems quite put upon.”

Eggsy snorted behind him. “Dash 'as got it in 'is 'ead 'e's a real 'big boy' since 'is last birthday. He still likes to play with Paulo, though 'e'd never admi' it. Come on then, bring the tea.”

The living room had a quant chaos about it, the majority of it overtaken with a large playset and most of the furniture had been pushed to the walls save for a large plush couch, and Eggsy leaned over, providing a rather specular view of a tight rump that Harry Hart had most definitely not noticed, as he set Naveen on floor playset and the baby was instantly mesmerized by the plethora of bright and shiny toys that hung from it. Undeveloped muscles set about in a flurry of motion, hands trying to grasp the slowly spinning things as his legs kicked about happily.

“I met Andy when 'e got assigned as our case worker. Like I said, 'e's seems like the right kind ov bloke, but I want to be smart about this, which is why I called you.” Eggsy said as he settled on the floor next to Naveen, hand reaching out every few moments to grab a socked foot teasingly or to push the mobile into movement again.

“As I said I am certainly not adverse to acting as chaperon.” Harry said as he settled on the sofa – the only real seating in the room – and crossed his legs. He rose an eyebrow as he spied what looked like a half-eaten biscuit hidden in the crease between two cushions, before deciding discretion was the better part of valor here and ignoring it. And Harry truly wasn’t bothered by the request, he’d applied for the rather ample amount of leave he'd saved up with the acknowledgement that a courting could take a while, “however I was slightly surprised to hear from you. I know you are close with the Holmes’ boys, I’m surprised you did not ask one of them to chaperon for you.”

“Eh, Mycroft 'e's a little,” Eggsy made a flippant movement with his hand, “an' all high strung for this type ov thing. I think Mycroft still sees me as that awkward kid 'e reluctantly took to the films every now an' then. And Sherlock's got 'is own problems. I figured you’d be the best ‘cause your more removed from it, ya know?”

“Hm.” Harry said thoughtfully, “and what is it that you desire in mate?”

Eggsy turned slightly, expression thoughtful and distant. “That's a bi' ov a loaded question, innt? I mean, I'd want someone safe for the kids, obviously. An’ I don't want someone _anythin'_ like Dean. Outside ov that...well, I dunno. Kind to me an' the boys, 'ard working, respectable an' all, willin' to keep us fed...the normal stuff I guess?”

Rather broad guidelines, but Harry had a feeling that Eggsy would get a feel for more of what he wanted the longer he courted and he told the young Roux as much before carefully setting his cup down on a coaster. “I feel I will have more than enough time to get to know Mr. Graves in the coming months. I’d like to learn more about you, Eggsy. What have you been doing with yourself these past few years?”

Whatever it was, it had served the lad well. Eggsy looked healthy and well fed, flushed with life, and Harry could hardly deny that motherhood looked well on him. He watched the young Submissive intently, careful to keep his attention on Eggsy’s face and not the strangely appealing light red spot which had bled through his sweater, observing every twitch and facial expression as he spoke. Apparently Eggsy worked with computers as some sort of IT consultant, which was why the small office attached to the living room appeared to be locked and stocked to the brim with crisp, clean lined computers easily seen through the French doors. He'd chosen not to continue furthering his education because his job paid very well and he didn't like the idea of trying to balance work, school, and child rearing.

Harry listened carefully, noting with some surprise that the boy was fairly skilled at keeping his expressions from giving away much more than what he was saying. A useful talent, no doubt, but Harry couldn't help but wonder just where he'd learned it. Or rather from who.

* * *

Eggsy groaned as Naveen kicked him harshly in the side, the baby’s cries loud and grumpy as he squirmed and lashed out, generally do his damnest to make the Submissive drop him. Eggsy grumbled under his breath as he set the sleepy cub into his crib, winding up the mobile before turning on the baby monitor and the white noise machine. He tucked a well-loved (and quite abused) bear next to the angry baby’s side before leaving.

He headed back down the stairs, ignoring Naveen’s cries that echoed both through from the nursery and the monitor clipped to his waist (as harsh as it may seem, Eggsy had learned that he’d settle down and go to sleep if Eggsy left him alone, however if he’d returned Naveen would keep his cycle of upset going for far longer) and grinned at the sight of a slightly overwhelmed looking Harry Hart staring at a muddy Paulo. The boy was absolutely covered in it, holding out a handful of dirt and worms for the older Dominant to see. Dash was snacking on a bag of fries, watching the interaction with a tickled expression.

“Alright then; to the showers with you Dash. Paulo, come on love, let's go put the crawlers back in the garden. Then bath time for you.” Paulo’s handsome faced scrunched in displeasure at the ‘b-word,' but there was no escaping it, not when he looked like some sort of swamp thing come to life. Dash bitched and moaned but did as he was told, tossing the bag at Harry as he climbed the stairs. Eggsy helped the five year old put the worms back before leading him to the downstairs bath. A quick check on Harry and the gift of the remote and Eggsy let the Roux be.

It would be a bit overwhelming, Eggsy bet, to be so suddenly surrounded by children and the madness they brought if you weren’t used to it. He mused on his guest as he tested the bubbly bath water’s temperature, tossing a handful of floating foam letter blocks in before pulling Paulo in. Predictably the cub’s fussing stopped once he was in the water, playing happily with his blocks as Eggsy went over him with soap and a washcloth.

Harry Hart looked the same as he had all those years ago, yet somehow Eggsy felt the older Dominant different. His features seemed more defined, more dignified, and his scent – the heady, masculine thing – was so like and yet so different from Andy’s. Andy’s scent seemed rougher somehow, less gentle or refined, and Eggsy puzzled over why he would notice such a thing as he worked shampoo into Paulo’s thick hair.

Harry was certainly handsome enough; oddly Eggsy hadn’t seemed to have really of noticed that last time, though the posh Roux must have been just as striking ten years ago as Eggsy found him now, and not for the first time the Submissive marveled at just how much the Change had reshaped him.

A part of him had been relieved – just as much as a part of him had been put off – by the idea of Harry staying here during the length of the courting. While Harry’s continued presence around the house meant that should anything go wrong with Andy he’d be there to help handle it, it also meant that Eggsy would have an _adult_ Dominant living under his roof for the first time since his Change.

A adult Dominant that Eggsy couldn’t deny was quite attractive.

But Harry hadn’t come here to be leered at, and the chances he'd ever have any interest in some third estate Roux like himself were rather low, so Eggsy had quietly pushed those thoughts away and was determined to continue to do so. He clicked at Paulo in disapproval as the little cub fought him as he lifted the cup to rinse his hair – Paulo was so _fussy_ about everything – and the boy obediently went still. A quick glance at his watch revealed it just half passed noon, which meant the dog walker was going to be back with Eggsy’s pack soon.

The pack was four dogs strong, all unneutered males of boxer or pit descent or mix, and Eggsy wanted to make sure he’d be out to calm their reaction to Harry. Dogs were one of the few creatures that not only recognized Roux but responded to them, barking and growling like mad while most beasts slunk silently away from a more apex predator, and it made them such excellent guards that for generations Submissibe Roux had been keeping them for additonal protection.

How obedient and protective a pack was ended up being a direct reflection on the Submissive that owned them, and a Submissive that had an unruly pack was viewed poorly, as the control needed to properly train a pack of canine was hardly unsimilar to that needed to raise a batch of wild and willful Roux cubs. And first impressions aside he also wanted to be there to...well, to keep Harry from being too overcome by it all. After all, Eggsy’s home was _loud_ when everybody was home. He’d have to get used to it, Eggsy thought with a vindictive thrill, if he was intent on staying here. He dried Paulo off, blowing raspberries on the boy’s stomach and chest as he helped redress him in clean clothes. He found Harry still in the living room, though the TV remained off and Eggsy froze in the doorway, a clingy Paulo in his arms.

Harry had pulled his jacket off, shirt sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up, and sat Indian-style next to Dash, seemingly helping the younger Dominant with his math. “I hate maths,” Dash explained with a put upon sigh, “but my brother says if I don’t get my marks up he’s gonna ‘make my life here really uncomfortable.’”

Harry’s smile was almost fond, “I disliked math growing up as well, but I find practice breeds a particular kind of familiarity.”

The sight of Harry Hart – perhaps the most posh bloke Eggsy had _ever_ met – sitting on his grubby and filthy carpet (Eggsy tried to keep the place clean, really he did, but with four dogs, three kids, and a job, it was kind hard to find the time) was as surreal as it was endearing, and Eggsy couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

“I’ll jus’ leave you two to it,” Eggsy said, smirking at how Harry’s head jerked towards him, but the smile faltered at the intense, focused look Harry was giving him. The Dominant had given him several of those stares today, looks that made the Submissive’s stomach flop at the same time it made him feel like he had something on his nose. “Gonna go start dinner. Uh, have fun. Dash you can play video games when ya’ve finished your homework.”

“Yes!” Dash hissed in victory, fist pumping. “I just got Destiny,” the ten year old explained seriously to the older Dominant, “it’s seriously _wicked.”_

Shaking his head in cheerful amusement at his brother’s actions (as if Harry Hart even knew what Destiny was) he set Paulo down in front of the play station and slipped into the kitchen. He kept one ear – and an eye when he could – on the living room though. He trusted Harry, the Dominant had gotten them out of a tight spot and had never been anything but polite and careful around them, but he was still an unknown in there with Eggsy’s _cubs._ And while he and the Holmes Dominants may not be close, the two had ensured that both he and Alcott could defend themselves. Both Dominants were practitioners of several rather unique martial art forms that they’d passed onto Eggsy.

But Eggsy wasn’t worried too much. In fact, the odd comfort he felt at having Harry around, the queer surety that he’d do nothing to hurt Eggsy or the cubs, was almost disconcerting in its strength. But Alistair had always said that the best gift a Submissive had was his instincts and so Eggsy decided not to think too hard on it.

After all Harry had given up months of his time to help him, so Eggsy figured he could spare a bit of faith.

* * *

The children were in bed by nine o’clock, even the eldest one, who’d fought it the entire way, his cries that Henry Walters and Freddie Thomson got to stay up till ten on school days completely lost on Eggsy as he herded him upstairs. Harry’s bedroom was on the ground floor, just down the hall from both the front and rear entryways, which was just how the Dominant preferred it. No one would be entering or leaving the house without him being aware of it.

Harry took his role as guardian to Eggsy and his cubs very seriously. Should this ‘Andy’ Graves prove to have untoward intentions, he’d have to go through Harry’s not inconsiderable amount of force to achieve it. He would not fail Lee again, not here, not with something as precious as his only child. He’d stripped down to a comfortable pair of flannel pajamas and had settled into the stuffed chair besides a large window (the Unwin house was quite large, as many of the homes in the neighborhood were, though Eggsy hadn’t misspoke when he’d pointed out that the block had shifted to a lower income set) which gave him a splendid view of the backyard.

He was well into proofing some latent field reports that were long overdue when a sound in the house proper gained his attention. A glance at the time revealed it well past two in the morning and Harry stood noiselessly, snatching a small, retractable baton from its resting place on the chest of drawers and slipped silently into the hall.

He cleared the two bedrooms nearest to him before moving out into the living room and the tension in his form lessened at the sight of the kitchen light on. He tucked the baton into the waist line of his belt, chastising himself as he moved towards the kitchen. He was living in a house full of children and dogs, there would undoubtedly be some late night visits to the kitchen. Then again, years of being a field agent and spy was hard to undue with something so simple as an acknowledgement of co-inhabitation. 

Harry stepped into the open doorframe that connected the kitchen to the living room, eyes dragging unbidden in a slow sweep over the graceful arch of a bent neck, the square of broad shoulders, down the smooth plain of back to where sleep pants hung low over the subtle flare of hips before he could stop himself. Eggsy turned with a yawn, a cup of milk in one hand and Naveen sucking sleepily at his breast, and jumped so hard that he spilt his drink all over himself.

“Jesus, Harry! Wear a bell or somethin’ next time!” Eggsy hissed and Harry nodded slowly, eyes flickering from Eggsy’s startled and frustrated expression contritely to where the baby was nursing.

His reaction to the sight - to Eggsy, a Submissive, soft with sleep and a feeding cub - was simple biology; how could such a sight not strike Harry’s baser instincts? Harry knew this, understood it. But he couldn’t help the shame that colored the sharp, gutteral flare of want. The sight of Eggsy’s nipple being so hungrily devoured made his stomach twist and his cock twitch, even as he felt dirty at the idea of turning something so innocent sexual. He stepped forward, grabbing one of the numerous towels that seemingly always existed around the house and handing it to the Submissive.

“My apologies,” he said, voice even, and felt his eyebrows shoot up as Naveen was suddenly pushed into his arms. The baby squawked, annoyed at being separated from his meal, but Eggsy ignored the cry as he quickly dried himself off before squatting down to take care of the milk on the floor.

The cub twitched in Harry’s arms before turning to stare at him, expression distinctly annoyed. For the first time in many years Harry felt at a loss, unsure how to even execute the most basics here – how to hold a child. Naveen’s face scrunched up, eyes tearing, and Harry honest to god felt a spike of _panic_ as he stared into rich, wet browns and took in the trembling lips. But then Naveen let out a full body sigh, as if in defeat, and went limp in Harry’s grip, head plopping heavily against his shoulder.

Something inside Harry shifted, as clear as if a literal switch had been flipped, and suddenly his grip was less awkward, a hand coming up to support a warm (so very warm, did all babies burn so hot?) back as his arm lock tightly around Naveen’s legs and rump. Each inhale was suddenly a lungful of the honey-sweet smell of _cub_ and blood, and Harry’s heart lurched quite suddenly in his chest, and it felt something had awoken in him, something long buried, and Harry couldn’t resist turning his head, resting his chin against downy soft hair, breathing the calming scent deeply.

The hand on Naveen’s back slid up, fingertips gentle as they pressed into the cub’s nape, and the little one went even more rag doll, if that was even possible. Naveen let out a soft, sleepy purr – a sound only Submissives could make, even one as young as Naveen – and a sound that only happened when they felt very safe and happy, and Harry's chest constricted with a possessiveness for the little thing in his arms that was breathtaking in its intensity.

Harry glanced up to find Eggsy watching them, a strange look on his face, rag forgotten in his hands, and Harry absurdly felt his cheeks flush. He shifted, offering the baby awkwardly back towards the Submissive, but Eggsy just shook his head, soft smile still in place.

“Come on, I'll show you how to put 'im down. Best you learn quick, I'll probably 'ave you do it more often than not now, since he’s so clearly takin' with you.” The Submissive sent him a cheeky wink. “Can’t say I’m not relieved, three cubs is work an’ don’ ya mistake it. An extra set ov hands round here won’t go amiss.”

Harry followed obediently behind him, Naveen a soothing and familiar (as if Harry had always held a child, had held _this_ child) weight against his shoulder and chest, and wondered quietly just what exactly he’d signed himself up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. Poor Harry. Also there is now a slightly slaphappy description of how Roux feed down in the comments.


End file.
